


like daisies underneath

by YellowLaboratory



Category: The Wilds (TV 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Religious Discussion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Shelby is a atypical tattoo artist next door, Toni is a reluctant florist, all nine girls are alive, background Leah/Fatin probably, there's no island there's just one street in a small town in minnesota that holds all this chaos, yeah I'm writing a Shoni flower shop/tattoo parlor au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:21:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29235237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowLaboratory/pseuds/YellowLaboratory
Summary: Toni doesn’t know how Martha finagled the job for her, but she’s not about to ask too many questions. She knows better than to bite the hand that feeds her, and she needs something to make rent.Shelby just happens to work next door.Or, the unsinkable eight all end up working on the same street in small town minnesota and chaos ensues.
Relationships: Martha Blackburn & Toni Shalifoe, Shelby Goodkind/Toni Shalifoe
Comments: 57
Kudos: 161





	1. daffodils & purple violets

  
  


_“Toni!”_ Martha yells across their apartment. _“You can’t be late on your first day!”_

Toni groans, rolling over and nearly falling off her bed. In her sleep induced haze, she can’t even find it in herself to be as appreciative of Martha as she probably should be. Instead, she just feels vaguely frustrated, enough so that if Martha were in the room, she probably would have flipped her off. 

Which, Martha didn’t deserve that, even if she was waking Toni up at an ungodly hour. 8:00 AM is essentially an act of war. 

Toni grumbles out something that may or may not be _fuck off, Marty._ Ambiguity saves her from feeling any remorse. 

When Toni doesn’t make any further move to get out of bed, her door opens quickly. Martha’s already dressed for work, holding a coffee mug in one hand and her purse in her other. “I’m serious, Toni. I pulled a lot of favors to get this job for you, you need to do the rest on your own.” 

_Pulled a lot of favors._ If Toni were less thankful, she would point out that it doesn’t take a lot of _favors_ to get someone a job as a cashier at a flower shop. Or, well, a normal person. Toni suspects that it might have actually been difficult for Martha to work the _hire my best friend_ angle when said best friend doesn’t have a positive recommendation to be found. 

Whatever. Toni still maintains that she was unfairly fired from her waitressing gig – that old man had been way too handsy. He deserved a glass of water to the face. Alas, her shift manager and the owner had disagreed vehemently. Toni’s pretty sure they weren’t going to give a glowing review of her work ethic after she stormed out of the office with both middle fingers in the air. 

So, jobless and paying half of the rent for her and Martha’s cozy (read: tiny but vaguely in their budget) apartment, Toni had been desperate. Just desperate enough to agree with Martha that working at the flower shop down the street was a good idea. Unlike the restaurant, she’d have fairly normal hours, and, as Martha excitedly reminded her, she wouldn’t have to drive to work anymore, so they would save on gas. 

That was going to go over well in the frigid Minnesota winters. Toni can’t wait to be trudging through two feet of snow to the fucking _flower shop._

With only a little bit more grumbling and some rummaging in her closet, Toni gets dressed in the outfit Martha had approved the night before – a white shirt and dark jeans and _literally anything other than your disgusting vans, Toni, please._

It’s not like the outfit is anything out of the ordinary, or even particularly noteworthy. It’s pretty comfy, anyways. Toni still hates it. 

“Oh my god, I can feel your bad mood all the way in here,” Martha says when Toni emerges from her bedroom, and this time Toni _really_ has to try not to flip her off as she makes her way to the bathroom. 

Toni loves Martha, she really does, but Martha had spent the last couple of days gloating over the fact that _Toni Fucking Shalifoe_ was going to be a florist. There was maybe nothing in Toni’s imagination that felt less in character than this, and Martha tended to agree. Martha thought it was hilarious. Toni did not. 

While Toni brushes her teeth, she hears the sound of the front door shutting signaling Martha’s departure to the Mapleville Animal Shelter. It’s also down the street, and, unlike Toni and the flower shop, completely, 100% in character for Martha. Martha had been working there since before they graduated from high school, and over the years, she’s become the point person for all of Mapleville’s animal needs. A lot of good had come from the animal shelter, like Martha having a steady (and increasing) source of income while Toni bounced around increasingly annoying jobs. It also brought them the apartment they currently occupied, which had previously belonged to one of Martha’s coworkers. Toni and Martha probably wouldn’t have been able to afford something so close to town if Martha and her coworker hadn’t done a little finagling that felt vaguely illegal when Martha and Toni took over the lease agreement. Toni didn’t need to know specifics – she just knew the rent didn’t increase like it should have, and they got an apartment that was walking distance to Martha’s work. Win-win. 

When Toni reenters the kitchen, she finds that she was right. Martha is nowhere to be found, but there is a message from her on the white board by the fridge. The white board is held up by an ungodly amount of command strips but still somehow on shaky ground, and it’s usually used by both Toni and Martha to roast the other one. The board is filed with stupid things each of them had said _(curiousity killed the dumb bitch and you can’t put your problems in the washing machine),_ a shopping list of vaguely concerning items _(hope, sleep, parmesan cheese )_ , and a few odd drawings (most of them drawn by Toni and all of them inappropriate for polite company). Now, though, part of one of Toni’s masterpieces has been erased, and replaced by the message _Good luck on your first day, Toni the Tiger (Lily)!_

Toni doesn’t even know what a Tiger Lily is. God fucking damn it. She makes sure to wipe the message off the white board with the sleeve of her jacket before she leaves the apartment.

Contrary to her mood, the weather is pleasant and so is the walk to the flower shop. Toni wants to be mad about it, but it’s kind of hard on a nice fall day. They’re kind of rare in Minnesota. 

The doorbell jingles as she enters the flower shop – _Jeanette’s_ – and she looks around to see no one in the shop. She pulls out her phone to make sure it’s the right day, and she’s just about to call out into the shop to see if anyone’s around when the door to the backroom opens. 

There’s some fumbling as the girl opening the door struggles under the weight of a massive bouquet, but when she turns around, she smiles brightly.

“Ahh, are you Toni?” she asks, and Toni nods a little, struck dumb by the Australian accent on the girl. The most exotic accent she’s heard in Mapleville, Minnesota in the last twenty something years has been one New Yorker who always asked for _caw-fee_ from the café down the street. He didn’t last long in Mapleville. 

“That would be me,” Toni says, trying not to appear as frazzled by the accent as she feels. “Are you Jeanette?” 

The girl gives her a weird look, raising one eyebrow. Toni doesn’t know what to make of it, but she points to the name on the door. 

“Oh!” the Australian girl says, laughing. “Oh – no, I’m Linh. I own the store.” 

Yeah, cause that explains it. “Oh, I just assumed, because of the name of the store–” 

“Nah, nah, it’s all good, mate. I got people making that mistake all the time. Or they think I named it after my mother or something.” 

Toni blinks, waiting a second to see if Linh will elaborate. When she doesn’t, Toni figures she must be waiting for her to ask. “What did you name it after?” 

Linh doesn’t hesitate. “Nothing,” she says. “I just like the name Jeanette. Gives the right vibe to the shop.” 

Toni doesn’t know what kind of vibe Jeanette gives off, or why it may be good for a flower shop, but she doesn’t ask any further questions. Linh Not Jeanette already seems like a Mapleville Anomaly, and she really doesn’t have the will to unravel that particular puzzle today. 

“Alright, well, I suppose we should get started getting you ready,” Linh says after she successfully nudges the giant bouquet onto a shelf. “Martha told me you had customer service experience?” 

Toni tries not to cringe. Does she ever. “Yeah,” Toni finally says. “I’ve worked with the public before.” 

“Fucking terrible, isn’t it? God, customer service is, like, the worst line of work.” 

Toni doesn’t point out that Linh is the owner of a _customer service business,_ seemingly by her own choice. 

“Eh, it, uh…” Toni trails off, “pays the bills.” 

Linh snaps her fingers at Toni. “Exactly! Sales are just fucking booming, mate, that’s why I needed to hire someone to manage the front of store while Em and I crank out some bouquets in the back.” 

Linh gestures for Toni to follow her as she maneuvers around the shop. Jeanette’s is a maze of flowers that Linh navigates with ease, setting bouquets upright and plucking out dead flowers as she moves. Toni just tries to minimize her _bull in a china shop_ energy. 

“Not to be, like, rude,” Toni says, which is always a great way to start a sentence addressing your new boss. She pushes forwards anyways, ducking under a particularly large fern and nearly knocking over a few vases. “But are sales really booming? Do people really buy flowers still?” 

Linh turns around, her eyes lit up like Toni asked the exact right question. Toni’s thankful – at least Linh doesn’t appear to have a stick up her ass. “That’s what everyone thinks – hell, that’s what I thought. But chivalry isn’t dead – and you can always monetize love. Look at Valentine’s day.” 

Linh’s got a point, Toni supposes. “That’s fair.” Toni shimmies by a massive bouquet of white flowers. “Wedding?” She questions, pointing to the bouquet. 

Linh spares a glance back at the flowers. “Nope,” she says. “Funeral.”

Toni’s eyes widen a little. “Oh,” she says, nodding. Linh finally makes it to the door she originally walked through, shoving it open with her hip and holding it for Toni to walk through.

On the door, there’s a different logo – that says _Evangeline’s._ There’s a piece of duct tape over it with _Jeanette’s_ written in sharpie. 

“Evangeline’s?” Toni asks, pointing towards the door. Linh scowls slightly. 

“Bad decision on my part. I had that logo made and stuck it on the fucking door before I changed the name. Can you believe I was gonna name this place _Evangeline’s?”_

Toni doesn’t suspect there’s much meaning behind that name, either, so she shrugs. “Yeah, _Jeanette’s_ is way less pretentious.”

“Hey!” Linh says sharply. “Evangeline is my mother’s name.” 

Toni can feel her jaw drop. “Oh, shit-” 

Linh's face breaks into a shit-eating grin. “I’m kidding, Toni. No fucking way would I be born to a woman named _Evangeline.”_

Linh turns and disappears further into the backroom, leaving Toni stunned. 

“Are you giving the new girl a hard time?” A voice calls from the back, and Toni follows Linh and the disembodied voice into what she assumes is the work room. 

There’s a big, white table in the center of the room, taking up nearly 90% of the room, and every visible surface is covered in flowers or a frankly unbelievable amount of ribbon. There’s a counter at the back of the room with precariously placed vases that Toni decides never to approach. She’s certain that she could breathe wrong on that counter and the entire thing would come crashing down. 

Linh has no such reservations. She traverses her way around plants, vases, and the limited floor space until she’s on the other side of the table, clapping the only other person in the room on the shoulders. 

“This is Emily,” Linh says, and Emily shoves her hands off her shoulders, only briefly looking up from the current bouquet to smile at Toni. “She’s my assistant.” 

“She means I’m the only one around her who knows what to do with fucking flowers,” Emily says, her focus still entirely on adding and removing flowers to the bouquet in a seemingly random pattern that Toni can’t make sense of. “ _Jeanette’s_ would have gone out of business years ago if I hadn’t been here to help.” 

Linh only contests this with a roll of her eyes, so Toni assumes it must be true. 

“Anyways,” Emily says, finally looking up from her current bouquet. “Welcome to the fam.” 

Alright, so maybe the flower shop gig wouldn’t be so bad. 

–––––

Toni’s right, mostly – working at _Jeanette’s_ isn’t as bad as she thought. When she accepted the job, she had suspected that the owner would be insufferable and proper, the type of person who owned far too many doilies. Linh wasn’t anything like that – she was cool, a little brash, and about as clueless about what a doily was as Toni. She was also a little weird, a little bit of an enigma, but Toni could deal with that.

Emily was quieter, more reserved, and almost entirely relegated to the workroom. While Linh fluttered around the shop inconsistently, switching between talking to customers and working in the back, Emily stayed in her corner and didn’t fuss. She’s not exactly the brand of personality that Toni would normally gravitate to, and maybe Toni would have liked her less if she weren’t best friends with the barista at the cafe down the street. Emily brought Toni a small cup of black coffee on her second day in the shop, and then every day after that. She staunchly refused any type of payment, claiming she got coffee free from her friend. Toni appreciated it, and she appreciated the fact that Emily took one look at her and decided she was hardcore enough to drink her coffee black. It’s the thought that counts, and Toni just hides a bottle of coffee creamer in the employee fridge to make it edible. No need to ruin the badass persona Emily has created in her mind by asking for a Vanilla Bean Frappe. 

So, it’s not the worst gig. She would thank Martha for it if Martha wasn’t already so fucking smug about the whole thing in the first place – Toni kept erasing the _Toni the Tiger (Lily)_ message from the white board and Martha kept replacing it.

  
And, honestly, the entire thing is still a fucking mystery to Toni. Linh didn’t mention how her and Martha knew each other. Martha said they were _friends,_ but Martha made friends with just about everyone on the fucking planet, so that didn’t mean much. Martha’s definition of _friend_ ranged from Toni herself, who was more akin to a sister, to the person she stood behind in the grocery store who was buying twenty eight boxes of Velveeta cheese. There was a certain part of Toni that respected the hustle, and a larger part that was completely confused by her best friend.

The bell above the door rings, and Toni can’t see the front door through the tower of plants Linh has stacked in the middle of the store, but she’d bet her bottom dollar it’s Emily. She’s proven right when Emily calls out a small _hello_ into the shop.

By some miracle, Toni’s usually in the shop earlier than Emily. Maybe it's because Emily needs to stop and get coffee, or maybe it's because Emily doesn’t really have as much of a schedule. She isn’t responsible for opening or closing the shop, so overwhelmingly, she comes and goes as she sees fit. 

“Here you go,” Emily says with a smile when she eventually appears from behind the flowers, sliding a small coffee to Toni. Toni tries not to grimace. Maybe Toni doesn’t hate the job, but that doesn’t mean that being at the flower shop at 9:05 on Monday is a smile-worthy situation. 

“Thanks, Em,” Toni says, accepting the drink from Emily, who nods and disappears into the backroom without much more conversation. Emily's like that 90% of the time – she speaks as few words as possible. 

Toni waits a few seconds before making her way into Linh’s office, where the employee fridge sits in the corner. She pours probably too much cream into her coffee and stirs it as she makes her way back to the cash register, trying not to spill it all over herself. It’s mostly a futile effort, but she manages to keep the majority of the coffee off of her shirt.

She’s back at the register just in time for the little bell above the front door to ring again. She waits a half a second, and then groans, mostly to herself. Given the silence following the doorbell, it couldn’t possibly be Linh – Toni hasn’t learned much over the last week or so, but she learned that Linh has a penchant for announcing herself loudly and immediately when she enters any room. 

So, that means it’s a customer. And, look, Linh wasn’t lying when she said business was booming. Customers filed in at a rate that, frankly, Toni couldn’t believe. But usually the steady stream of customers starts somewhere around 11:00 – not ten minutes after the store opens. 

“Hello there?” a southern accent calls into the store. “Is there anyone – oh! Hello!” 

The southern accent belongs to a tall, blonde girl who ducks her way around the large colony of ferns Linh keeps near the cash register. 

“Hi,” Toni says, waving a little. Her gaze only lingers half a second too long on the girl before she’s back to (pretending) to do something important. The girl’s pretty, but in the way that Toni doesn’t really pay attention to. The first thing that tips Toni off is the sunshine yellow cardigan she’s wearing – the kind of cardigan Toni suspects kindergarten teachers buy in bulk. And if that wasn’t enough, her hair is unnaturally straight, pushed back by a thick headband that matches the cardigan far too well. 

All things considered, she’s the type of girl who would never be into Toni. Toni’s gotten good at blocking them out. 

“I’m just taking a look around, if you don’t mind,” Sunshine Yellow Cardigan says, gesturing around to the flowers. 

“By all means,” Toni says, nodding. She wants to say something snappier, but her brain seems to be incapable of coming up with anything even remotely funny. 

Sunshine Yellow Cardigan doesn’t seem to notice. She moves on, throughout the store, running her fingers across the names of the flowers, nodding back at Toni. “Thanks,” she says softly. 

Toni’s beginning to wonder if the flower shop is some weird retreat for Mapleville newcomers. It’s not typical to hear any sort of accent in a small town in Minnesota, and even less common to meet someone you don’t know. Mapleville isn’t big, the kind of place where you grow up and live and die with the same people. The type of place where everyone is in everyone else’s business. And boy, if Toni were more interested in gossip, would she have a perfect venue. The flower shop acts as a never ending fountain of gossip – from the Mayor running in to get his wife a last minute anniversary bouquet, to the time Marcus Smith came in asking for flowers that mean _“I’m sorry – like, really, really sorry.”_

Toni hadn’t been aware he meant a symbolic meaning – she wasn’t aware that flowers _had_ symbolic meanings, until Linh had told her later that day. Not that she really felt all bad about fucking that one up. Marcus had been a dick to her in High School, especially when she got her first girlfriend, and Toni never really forgot it. When Marcus requested a floral apology, Toni just shrugged and pointed to the most expensive bouquet currently on display.

Later, when Linh asked where the bouquet of orange lilies was, Toni had told her the story. Linh had laughed so hard she cried, and in between her tears, she told Toni that orange lilies were the figurative equivalent of a giant middle finger. 

Toni only felt a little bad.

Toni’s reverie is broken by Sunshine Yellow Cardigan, who’s humming as she meanders around the shop. In an uncharacteristic display of customer service, Toni finds herself blurting out “do you need any help?” 

The girl doesn’t look as stunned by the question as Toni feels, probably because it’s a perfectly reasonable thing for a cashier to say. Figures. 

“I’m just looking for a flower with a very specific meaning,” she says after a second, spinning to look at Toni. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” 

Toni hopes her smirk isn’t completely transparent. She may have felt bad about sending Marcus off with a bouquet of middle finger flowers, but that wasn’t the end of it. The amount of people who would file into Jeanette’s trying to find a symbolic _whatever the fuck_ was amost worrisome to Toni. Like, seriously, who puts that much thought into some made up bullshit created to sell more flowers? 

That doesn’t stop Toni from playing into it. She’s made a game of making up meanings for every flower in the shop, and then selling it to any customer that graces the shop. Sure, maybe it’s a little unethical, but she’s a cashier. If the people really wanted to buy into the weird flower bullshit, Google’s right there. 

So, Sunshine Yellow Cardigan looking for a specific flower? It’s too good of an opportunity to pass up. 

“I wouldn’t call myself an expert,” which is the understatement of the century, but Toni says it with false humility, like she’s actively trying to be humble. “But I could try and help.” 

Alright, so it’s not _out rightly_ a lie. 

Sunshine Yellow Cardigan smiles, nodding. “I’m looking for something, like, new beginnings, you know? Like, something that means a fresh start.” 

Huh, well. If Toni isn’t the perfect person to fuck up this bouquet. 

“Of course, of course – I could suggest…” Toni trails her eyes along the rows of flowers. She’s got no fucking idea if there’s a flower that could even mean _new beginnings,_ but she’ll be damned if she admits that. “How about this one?” Toni finally decides, pointing to a yellow and orange monstrosity in the middle of the walkway. Linh had carried it from the backroom and decided it was too heavy, so it sat in potentially the most inconvenient location possible. Toni had tripped over it no less than fourteen times in the last two days, and she was itching to have someone take it. 

Sunshine Yellow Cardigan looks confused for a second. “Yellow carnations?” 

Toni looks at the bouquet in disdain. She hadn’t known the name of the yellow flower.

“Yeah,” Toni says, racking her brain for some bullshit to feed the girl. “You know, it’s….yellow. Like… the sun. Like sunrises. New day, and all that jazz.” 

The girl looks at her for a second, her brow furrowed together, and she opens her mouth to say something. Toni shuffles awkwardly on her feet for half a second, looking down at the list of bouquet pickups she’s expecting today, and when she looks back up, the girl is smiling shyly. Toni’s got her. 

“Oh, really?” The girl says, her tone maybe a little too excited. Toni smirks back – there’s something off in the girl’s excitement over a fucking flower, but she’s not about to tell blondie how to live her life. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Toni says, moving a little closer to the bouquet to read the tag that Linh had added, listing out the flowers in it. “And the purple violets mean, like… purity. Or whatever. Like something new.”

“Something new,” the girl repeats, nodding her head along. “You know, I was actually thinking something like, maybe a daffodil?” the girl says, picking up a rather bland bouquet of what Toni can only assume are daffodils. “Something that _actually_ means new beginnings, you know? Not,” she gestures to the other bouquet, “yellow carnations and rejection.” 

It takes a second, but once she understands what’s going on, Toni can feel all the color drain from her face – Sunshine Yellow Cardigan’s smile makes a lot more sense, suddenly. She wasn’t falling for Toni’s bullshit – she was playing her right back. She clearly knows more about flowers than she let on. 

Sunshine Yellow Cardigan also seems more amused than put off by Toni, which feels moderately mortifying to Toni. Suddenly, the blood rushes back into Toni’s face, a blush starting to cover her cheeks. She tries not to scowl as the girl laughs. 

Cardigan lays the daffodils on the counter. “Well, I thank you for your help,” there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes. “But I think daffodils will have to do. It’s not very inventive, but my client won’t mind.” 

_Ah, client,_ Toni thinks. A wedding planner, clearly. Maybe Toni had only been in the flower industry for a Minnesota minute, but she had been bombarded by at least a couple dozen stressed out wedding planners in that time. Cardigan looks like she’s got all the makings of a perfect planner – annoyingly pleasant, bubbly, and a knack for tiny details. She doesn’t really act like one, though. Every other wedding planner had come into the flower shop like a fucking tornado, ripping Toni’s patience to shreds. Cardigan, on the other hand, is almost unnervingly calm. But she’s still ripping Toni’s patience to shreds, so maybe there’s hope yet. 

“How much?” she asks, smiling up at Toni. Toni has a hard time breathing for a second. 

“$25,” Toni manages to get out.

The girl stares a little sadly at the flowers, like she’s disappointed in them. She sighs, pulling out her wallet. “I suppose it’ll have to do.” 

Toni bites her tongue, before she does something stupid like offer her a discount or tell her that the daffodils match her sweater. She cashes her out quickly, wanting to get out of this supremely awkward situation as quickly as possible. 

Toni only relaxes once the girl takes her receipt and the bouquet of flowers with a small smile, heading towards the door of the shop.

“Oh, and Miss?” The girl says, turning around just before she disappears into the flower forest. Toni acknowledges her with a nod. “You may want to look up the meaning of purple violets.” 

She says it quickly, turning and disappearing into the foliage without any confirmation from Toni. A few seconds later, the doorbell rings, signaling the girl has left the shop. 

Toni takes a deep breath and resolutely decides to _never_ look up the meaning of purple violets. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [Mia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smileymikey/pseuds/smileymikey) for betaing this chapter and also listening to me rant about my love for this tv show.
> 
> the title comes from a song I found on tiktok by the user @ou.blaire about tattoo parlor/flower shop aus


	2. wisteria & yellow tulips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone who knows me knows I love to publish chapters whenever Taylor Swift releases something, so here we are. 
> 
> thank you so much to my beta reader [Mia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smileymikey/pseuds/smileymikey) for being a phenomenal hype woman and telling me I'm funny :)

The bell above the door to the flower shop dings only half a second before Fatin announces her presence. 

“Hey, bitch,” she says, ducking around some flowers and nearly knocking an entire display over. “I need a bouquet that says _buy the most expensive wine on the menu.”_

Toni sighs, setting her phone down on the counter. “I know fuck all about what flowers mean, Fatin.” 

And considering how well her blunder with Sunshine Yellow Cardigan had gone, she’s not keen to try her hand at fucking with the general public again. It’s been four days and she hasn’t seen any sign of the girl, thank god, but that doesn’t mean she’s willing to tempt fate. With her luck, she’d try her hand at false symbolism and Cardigan would pop out from behind one of the bouquets, going off about how yellow tulips represent the lifecycle of ants or some shit.

Toni was so hell bent on avoiding discussing the meaning of flowers, she went as far as pissing off one of the old white dudes in the shop. Apparently, _learn to use Google_ is not an acceptable response to a customer’s question. Linh was incredibly good natured about the shitty Yelp review. 

“I don’t need a deep symbolic meaning, Toni,” Fatin says, leaning across the counter. Toni breathes out a sigh of relief. “I have a rich motherfucker coming into Salud today to propose to his girlfriend and a $500 dollar bottle of wine I don’t want to have in my possession anymore.”

“$500?!” Toni’s jaw drops. As if there’s a family in Mapleville rich enough for that shit. 

Fatin looks despondent. “I need a sexy bouquet of flowers.” 

“I think you need a fucking miracle. No way are you selling a bottle of wine that expensive to _anyone._ ” 

Fatin rubs at her temples. “I knew I should have just opened the restaurant in New York.” Toni watches as she allows herself a second to feel bad about herself before standing up right. “Are you going to help me or not?” 

Toni shrugs her shoulders helplessly. She doesn’t even know what a _sexy bouquet_ would look like. Fatin’s unimpressed by the answer, walking away from the counter while muttering something under her breath that sounds a lot like _useless._

If it were anyone else, Toni would be pissed off. But this is Fatin: certified pain in the ass, and also the owner of the only place that even vaguely resembles nightlife in all of Mapleville. Salud sits down the street from Jeanette’s, flashier and pricier than just about anything in the entire fucking county. It’s got the whole nine yards – white table clothes, wine pairings, multiple forks that go in some specific order that Toni always fucks up. Toni can’t even begin to afford an actual meal there, and she wouldn’t touch the place with a ten foot pole, but the bartender is an old friend from school who slides her free drinks and an occasional appetizer. Toni can make do with that. 

Similarly, Fatin probably would have been pissed at the one-woman drain on her resources, but she had taken one look at Toni and declared that she _‘liked her feral energy’_ , whatever the fuck that means. Toni’s just accepted it. Maybe Fatin was a piece of work, but she was a fucking hilarious one. 

“You know that old hag on the Town Planning Committee?” Fatin yells across the store conversationally, as if they aren’t in public and Toni isn’t working. 

“The one who told you Salud is going to ruin the children of Mapleville’s healthy development?” Toni only asks to rile Fatin up more – the _Town Planning Committee_ is made up of, like, three people, and Toni couldn’t tell any of them from Adam. 

“Yes! That one!” Fatin says, giving Toni a lot more credit for remembering then is probably deserved. After a particularly eventful town meeting, Fatin hadn’t shut up about the insult for weeks. “She’s calling a closed-door meeting about Salud’s _noise level._ I mean, the fucking audacity, right?” 

Toni watches Fatin rummage around the flowers. “Didn’t they already decide that at the last closed-door meeting?” 

Salud’s has always drawn a lot of controversy, ever since Fatin first opened it years ago. Sure, it’s a standard upscale restaurant by day, nothing that would cause any kind of commotion – but, predictably, Fatin had to push the envelope. Pushing the envelope, in this case, meant transforming the entire restaurant into a nightclub after 11:00 on the weekends. Toni’s pretty sure Fatin dabbles in black magic or something to make it happen – moving all those tables and all the fucking silverware must be a herculean effort. 

“Of course not, that one was about the liquor license,” Fatin says, finally picking out a bouquet at random and tossing it onto the counter in front of Toni. “I guess this one will work.” 

Toni starts ringing up the bouquet. “What happened with the liquor license?” 

Fatin rolls her eyes. “Well, _obviously,_ I still have it.” Toni levels Fatin with a look. “But it cost me a pretty penny.” 

Fatin’s family has some kind of ridiculous generational wealth that Toni can’t fully grasp. Whenever Salud’s gets into a sticky situation with the planning board, Fatin throws money at the problem until it goes away. 

“If this cretin doesn’t shell out some serious cash for his meal, I’m gonna lose my shit,” Fatin says when Toni hands her the flowers back. 

Toni huffs out a laugh. “Great customer service,” she teases. 

Fatin brandishes the bouquet of flowers at Toni like a weapon. “Don’t you fucking dare talk to me about customer service, Toni Shalifoe.” 

Toni winces at the reminder of her last job and, more specifically, how it ended. Fatin had laughed for a solid five minutes when Toni had recounted the story to her over several drinks. 

“Uncalled for,” Toni challenges, and Fatin shakes her head, brushing her off. 

“Whatever. Are you still coming by tonight?”

Toni drums her hands on the counter. “Yupp. Martha’s got the fucking community shit or whatever.” 

“You decided to join the Community Group?” Fatin says in sheer disbelief. 

“Yeah, over my fucking dead body,” Toni all but scoffs. The Community Group, or whatever the fuck it’s actually called, was one of the things that Martha loved and Toni refused to touch. Once they had moved into the apartment, their neighbor had invited them to join. It sounded like a bunch of Karens getting off to the debate about PTA placements and fundraising events, and Toni had responded with a resounding _fuck no._ Martha, on the other hand, had met with the group once a month ever since. Since most of them were wealthy enough to have time to waste on shit like planning for food trucks in the park, they always met at Salud’s.

“I’m gonna stop by after work,” Toni clarifies. “Have a drink or something.”

Fatin narrows her eyes. “You better pay for your shit this time.” 

Tony smiles sweetly at Fatin’s idle threat. “Don’t I always?”

––––- 

“One gin and tonic,” Dot says as she slides the glass across the bar top. Toni catches it and nods her head at Dot in thanks.

Dot’s something of a godsend, not that Toni would ever be mushy enough to tell her that. Dot transplanted to Mapleville after her dad died and she had to move in with some extended family, and even back then she really didn’t give a shit about what the assholes in their class thought. Toni always respected her for that because, honestly, there were some fucking small minded people in Mapleville. 

That’s not to say Dot and Toni were friends in High School. They weren’t enemies, for sure, but Toni had Martha and Dot didn’t form any deep relationships, so they hadn’t really talked. Then, a year or so after graduation, they ended up working at the same restaurant. It had been Toni’s least favorite job to date – an overpriced steak house on a fucking golf course, of all things – but Dot made it manageable. In between the asshole customers and the even worse manager, Dot and Toni had, like, war bonded or something. 

When Dot left that job to become the head bartender at Salud, Toni hadn’t lasted much longer.

Since then, Dot had single handedly ensured that Toni was a frequent attendant of Salud’s. Fatin didn’t really see it as a win, given that almost all of Toni’s _‘purchases’_ were actually handouts. Toni likes to remind Fatin that not everyone can afford Fatin’s taste.

“I’m seriously pissed off,” Fatin says, coming up from behind Dot. She glares at a point over Toni’s shoulder. “He got a fucking _forty dollar bottle of wine.”_

Dot looks at Toni and rolls her eyes. “You really expected Nick Allen to shell out for a bottle of wine?”

Toni’s eyes widen a little, and she lets out a laugh, finally giving into the temptation to turn around and see who Fatin was trying to sell a five hundred dollar bottle of wine to. And, would you believe it, it _is_ Nick Allen. Toni laughs a little harder, turning back to face Dot and Fatin. 

Fatin looks at Dot aghast. “You said his dad was loaded!”

“He is,” Dot shrugs, wiping down part of the bar top. 

“He’s also a cheap motherfucker,” Toni says, taking a sip of her drink. “He got Tara Sheppard hand lotion for their two year anniversary in high school.” 

“Lotion isn’t a bad gift in the right setting,” Fatin says suggestively. 

“It was from Walgreens,” Toni adds. Fatin scrunches her face up in disgust.

“I’m honestly surprised he splurged on a forty dollar bottle,” Dot agrees. 

Fatin looks between them, clearly offended by her words. _“Splurged on a forty bottle of wine –_ that’s not splurging! That’s just a shitty bottle of wine.” 

Dot looks at Fatin for a second. “You sell that bottle of wine,” she points out.

“Don’t look at me like that, Dorothy. This town is full of cheapskates,” Fatin says, disgusted. She pauses for a second, looking between Dot and Toni. “No offense.” 

“Trust me, none taken,” Toni assures her, and Dot laughs in agreement. 

“How do you guys even know this?” Fatin says in disbelief. “Is it some kind of right of passage in Mapleville to memorize every asshole’s name and spending limit?”

“Fatin, we went to high school with him,” Dot reminds her. 

“And some things never change,” Toni adds. 

Fatin sighs dramatically. “How the fuck am I supposed to make money in this godforsaken town if no one buys my $500 dollar bottle of wine and you keep drinking for free?” Fatin directs the question at Toni, who sip her drink quietly, but Dot responds. 

“You could just not buy the $500 bottle of wine in the first place,” Dot offers. 

“Fuck off, Dorothy,” Fatin sighs, turning away from the bar.

Dot shrugs, setting more highball glasses on the counter. “Martha almost done?” she says after a beat of silence, nodding her head towards a table at the back of Salud where the community group is congregated. 

Toni checks the time on her phone. “Any minute now. Longer if she starts talking to one of the Karens.” 

Dot picks up a glass. “Any idea what she might want to drink?”

Toni pretends to think for a second, tapping her forehead performatively. “Something sweet. Anything that doesn’t actually taste like alcohol.”

Dot snorts, reaching for a large bottle of pineapple juice. “Malibu Sunset it is.” 

Martha does end up taking a few more minutes – like Toni had suspected, she ends up talking to a woman with a haircut that looks like it may belong to the textbook definition of _can I speak to your manager?_

Toni tries not to pay too much attention to Martha – she doesn’t want to be creepy, but Dot is mixing drinks and Fatin is stalking the proposal table with a slightly more expensive bottle of wine, and honestly, Toni’s kind of lonely. Certainly lonely enough to notice when Martha’s walking over, and that she’s waving someone over with her. 

Toni just about falls off her barstool. 

She blinks her eyes, wondering vaguely if there was something in the gin and tonic that could make her vividly hallucinate. Walking behind Martha, smiling brightly enough to light up fucking Times Square, is Sunshine Yellow Cardigan herself. The girl from the flower shop, in the flesh. Toni's positive it’s her – she’s literally never seen anyone else like that around Mapleville. And besides, she’s got the same fucking cardigan on – this time, it’s pale pink, and she’s foregone the matching headband. Fucking remarkable, isn’t it. Toni wonders if she really did buy the cardigans in bulk.

Dot makes her way back to Toni’s corner of the bar, and Toni spins to face her, eyes wide. Dot stops in her tracks when she sees Toni’s facial expression. 

“What?” Dot says, looking around the restaurant for the source of Toni’s fear. “What’s going on?” 

“I’m going to need a stronger drink if this goes how I think this is gonna go,” Toni tells her, downing the rest of her glass. Realistically, Toni knows it was only going to be a matter of time before she saw Cardigan again, small town and all that. Yet here she is, still completely shocked by it. 

She takes a deep breath. Even more realistically, Toni’s not sure it’s her. She only saw Cardigan for, like, all of ten minutes. And for at least nine of those minutes, Toni was rolling her eyes. Maybe this girl looks like Cardigan, and wears the same clothes, but that doesn’t mean they are necessarily the same person. Toni calms herself down, convincing herself she’s probably just projecting.

Dot looks back and forth between Toni and what Toni assumes must be Martha. She refuses to turn around and confirm that assumption, just in case. “What am I missing?” Dot finally asks, and Toni makes no move to answer.

“Toni!” Martha exclaims when she’s close enough, and Toni gives Dot a look that clearly says _please save me_ before spinning around in her chair. Dot only responds by looking more confused. 

“Marty!” Toni says with fake enthusiasm, trying to mimic Martha’s tone. 

Martha slides into the barstool next to Toni, where her Malibu Sunset is already sitting. Toni valiantly tries not to make eye contact with Maybe Cardigan. Martha, of course, finds that completely unacceptable.

“Toni, Dot, this is Shelby,” Martha says, gesturing back to the girl. Or _Shelby,_ apparently. “Shelby, this is Toni and Dot.” 

“Sup,” Dot says, and Toni finally turns back. 

“Hi, y’all,” Shelby says in her southern accent, waving to both Dot and Toni. 

And _fuck._ Of course it’s her – that accent is completely unmistakable. Just Toni’s luck, the fucking Sunshine Yellow Cardigan herself is tagging along with Martha. Martha, who could make friends with a doormat given the chance. Toni kind of wants the ground to swallow her so she doesn’t have to deal with any of this. 

Toni holds on to some hope that Cardigan – Shelby – whatever – won’t recognize her. There’s a small chance, given that Toni herself was uncertain it was the same girl until she opened her mouth. 

Then Shelby’s eyes land on her and maybe Toni’s paranoid, but she swears she sees a flash of recognition. Toni tenses up, waiting for her to say something, but Shelby says nothing. Toni breathes out what she hopes is a subtle sigh of relief – clearly, Shelby didn’t recognize her, or she didn’t want to say anything. And you know what, Toni’s okay with that either way.

“I invited her to have a drink with us,” Martha says excitedly, patting the barstool on the side of her. Toni curses any deity willing to listen to her. Shelby hesitates for a half a second before she moves to sit down. 

Dot drums her hands on the bar. “What can I do ya for, Shelby?”

Shelby looks up and down the bar. “Oh, um...do you have a menu?” she asks. 

Dot scrunches up her nose. She hates being relegated to the menu. “No menu for friends,” Dot says, gesturing to the wall of liquor behind her. “The world is your oyster.” 

Toni snorts at Dot’s theatrics. Dot spares her a glare before looking back at Shelby. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know how to make a French 75, would you?” Shelby says almost sheepishly, and Dot stares back at her, downright offended. 

“Of course I know how to make a French 75. What, do I not look like I’m worth my salt? Jesus, I’m going to make you the best goddamn French 75 you’ve ever had.” Dot stalks down the length of the bar, grabbing a bottle of Champagne and mumbling something about _disrespect._

“I’m sorry, did I say something to offend her?” Shelby says, looking helplessly over at Martha and Toni. 

Toni ventures a look at her, and then laughs a little as she shakes her head. Sums up all her bravery and decides to actually talk to Shelby. “Nah, Dot just takes pride in her bartending. She’s not really offended.” 

“I’ll speak for myself, thank you very much,” Dot says upon her return, pointing a threatening finger at Toni. “And you better watch yourself, or you’ll end up paying for your drinks.” 

Toni rolls her eyes at Dot. Martha giggles, which feels like a betrayal. 

Shelby looks back and forth between Dot and Toni for a second, like she can’t decide who to believe. “I’m really sorry, Dot, I didn’t mean to offend you, I just–” 

Dot brushes her off, exactly as Toni knew she would. “Nah, I’m just messing with ya. Hazing ritual of the Salud Drinking Club.” 

“If only the Salud Drinking Club actually fucking paid for their drinks,” Fatin says, meandering her way down the bar. 

“Oh, I fully intended to pay for my drink,” Shelby says quickly, reaching back to pull her wallet out of her purse. 

Fatin stops her forward motion, staring at Shelby in confusion. “Who’s the new one?”

Shelby doesn’t seem taken aback at all by Fatin’s abrasiveness. She leans herself over the counter, sticking her hand out for Fatin to shake. 

“Shelby Goodkind. I just moved to Mapleville.” 

Fatin shakes her hand once like it’s painful. “Clearly.” 

“Fatin’s the owner of Salud,” Martha says, filling Shelby in. Shelby sits back in her seat, like she’s finally a little put off. “Shelby’s from Texas,” Martha adds, as if that’s not fucking obvious given her accent and her general aura. 

“No way,” Fatin says in mock surprise. “My girl Dorothy is from Texas, right?” Fatin throws her arm around Dot, who shrugs it off immediately. 

“I lived there until the middle of high school. Moved up here to live with some family,” Dot says, nodding her head. 

“Been miserable ever since,” Toni says, and Martha smacks her shoulder. Dot raises an empty glass as if she’s giving a toast.

“To the frigid Minnesota winters!” she says, and Toni raises her empty glass as well. 

“You guys are going to scare Shelby,” Martha whines, and both Dot and Toni roll their eyes in tandem. “The winters really aren’t that bad, Shelby.” 

Dot barks out a laugh. “Not that bad, huh?” 

“50 below isn’t that bad, Dot,” Toni says mockingly. “You just can’t go outside or you’ll lose your fingers.” 

Shelby is clearly horrified, her eyes wide. She looks at Martha for reassurance. Unfortunately for Shelby, there’s no such reassurance to give. “You just stay inside on those days, if you can,” Martha says, as if that’s any comfort at all. 

Shelby blinks, looking down at the bar top like she’s contemplating all of her life choices. After a second, she looks up again. “You’ll lose your fingers?” she asks tentatively. 

“Only if you’re dumb enough to get frost bite,” Fatin says, filling a glass up with ice. “Which – don’t be dumb enough to get frost bite.” 

“Noted,” Shelby says quietly, like she’s filing away the word _frost bite_ to be Googled in-depth later. 

While Shelby looks like she’s going through some _I Moved To The Tundra_ -esque mental breakdown, Dot takes notice of Toni’s empty glass. She eyes Fatin for a second, and then decides to go for it. “How about you, Toni?” She gestures to the empty cup.

Toni turns the glass around in her hands, thinking for a second. Even though she knows Fatin’s just giving her shit about the free drinks in good fun, Toni still feels a little guilty. Not a lot, but just enough that she may be done for the night. “I think I’m good, Dot. Thanks, though.” 

Fatin scoffs. Dot gently shakes the bottle of champagne at Toni. “No French 75 for you?” She teases. 

“I don’t even know what that is,” Toni admits, turning to look at Shelby with her eyebrows raised. Shelby seems to have recovered just a little bit from the earth-shattering revelation that Minnesota is fucking cold.

She shrugs, turning slightly in her seat. “Only my favorite cocktail.” 

“Oh, well, in that case,” Toni teases, sarcasm clear in her voice.

“I don’t know, Toni,” Dot says as she throws a seemingly random assortment of ingredients in the cocktail shaker. “They’re nothing to scoff at.” 

Shelby smirks at Toni, like Dot’s just proved something. Toni feels the challenge, and, well, she’s Toni Shalifoe. She’s not gonna look a challenge in the eye and back down. “I’ll be the judge of that,” she says immediately, resting her forearms on the counter. “Give me a French 69.” 

“French _75_ ,” Martha chastises, rolling her eyes and looking at Shelby like _I’m sorry about her._

“French 69 is something _way_ different,” Dot adds, and Fatin waggles her eyebrows at Toni. 

“But, hey, if you’re ordering…” she says, letting her sentence trail off suggestively. Toni raises her eyebrows, shaking her head.

“Maybe another time, babe,” Toni says, and Fatin winks back at her. Toni catches Shelby looking back and forth between Fatin and Toni in confusion, like she’s putting a few dozen puzzle pieces into place at the same time. Toni can probably guess how cardigan-wearing Shelby From Texas feels about lesbians. 

Not that Fatin is a lesbian – in all honestly, Toni’s not exactly sure how Fatin identifies. She asked, one time, just out of curiosity, and Fatin had given her a long winded explanation about how she just liked _people,_ you know? And sex, of course. Toni had accepted it, shrugging her shoulders and telling Fatin _well, at least I don’t have to worry about bestiality._ Fatin had laughed hard enough to snort wine up her nose, which she complained about for the next two hours. 

Maybe it’s just Toni, but the air feels a little more awkward after Shelby seems to come to her own conclusions. It’s silent for a second, but then Martha breaks it, shaking her head and hopping off her bar stool.

“You two are unbelievable,” she says, pointing between Toni and Fatin. Fatin burst into laughter, moving farther down the bar away from the girls. “Play nice while I’m in the bathroom.” 

“Doubtful,” Dot says, lifting the cocktail shaker and violently rattling it.

Shelby turns to fully face Toni, who's almost worried the next words out of her mouth are going to be some _pray the gay away_ bullshit. 

“What’s your typical drink of choice?” she asks instead, and it takes Toni a second to reboot from that surprise. 

“Why, you want to buy me one?” Toni says, trying to play it cool like she hadn't immediately jumped to the worst conclusion about Shelby. It's strained even to Toni's ears.

“Because you know my favorite,” Shelby rationalizes, and Toni supposes that may be fair.

“Gin and tonic,” Toni says, lifting up the empty glass that’s still in her possession. 

“That’s a bold face lie,” Dot says, shoving two dainty champagne flutes in front of the girls. She continues speaking as she pours the drink from the shaker into the glasses. “If I have to suffer through making daiquiris, you have to admit to liking them.”

“I also like daiquiris,” Toni confesses, frowning at Dot. 

“She gets all pouty when I tell her I won’t pull out the blender,” Dot says to Shelby, pointing at the face Toni’s currently pulling. 

“I don’t get pouty,” Toni defends. “I order a different drink. Like a gin and tonic.”

Dot puts the shaker down, sliding the Champagne glasses to both of their respective drinkers. “Yeah, _after_ you pout.” 

Toni snatches her drink from Dot, who just starts laughing. Shelby hides her laugh by lifting her own glass to her lips and taking a small sip. Toni downs half her flute in one go. 

Fuck. The drink even tastes like sunshine – figures. It’s lemony and sweet and also, if Toni isn’t mistaken, just a tad strong. Probably strong enough that Toni should be careful with how much she’s drinking, but she’s going to ignore that. Shelby watches her expectantly, with a little bit of excitement in her eyes.

“It’s alright,” Toni says reluctantly after a second. Honestly, it’s more than alright – it’s fucking delightful. Toni would like to hate it. Shelby smiles like she knows she doesn’t. 

“You know, Toni,” Shelby says, swirling the drink around a little in the flute. “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” 

Toni blinks, dumbfounded for a second. “Why the fuck would I want to catch flies?” 

Shelby and Dot look at each other and laugh, and Toni decides that it must be some sort of weird inside joke that only Texans get. Martha chooses that moment to reemerge from the bathroom, sliding back into her seat, looking between the three of them. Probably trying to assess the damage her absence has caused. She doesn’t seem too worried about Toni’s bruised ego when she nods her head, picking up her own drink and smiling like _ah, all my friends are getting along._

“So, Toni,” Shelby says. “I’ve got another question for you.” 

Jesus fucking Christ. Toni’s not sure she likes how inquisitive Shelby is. Still, she finds herself nodding. “Shoot,” she says, leaning back and trying not to predict the next words out of Shelby’s mouth. 

“I don’t mean to be rude, but are you the girl from the flower shop?” 

There’s a silence. 

_Fuck._

Dot and Martha laugh so loud, several of the tables around the bar shoot dirty looks their way. Toni tries to quiet them down, but that only causes them to laugh harder. Finally, after a minute, Toni bangs her forehead to the bar top in misery. 

“Yeah,” she breathes out, and she doesn’t look up when Martha and Dot burst out laughing again. 

“What the fuck is going on over here?” Fatin says, rushing down the bar. She had been distracted by a couple down at the far end of the restaurant, but the obnoxious laughter gained her attention. “You know, I have actual paying customers who don’t want to hear you guys cackling like some fucking banshees.” 

“Shelby just reminded us all that Toni’s a florist,” Dot says in between laughter, pointing at Shelby. Shelby, to her credit, looks completely shocked by the outburst of emotion.

Fatin sizes Shelby up. “Alright, I guess this one can stay,” she says after a minute. “Anyone who roasts Toni is a friend of mine.” 

Toni flips Fatin off, not lifting her head from the bar top. Fatin swipes at the offending finger.

Shelby only looks more confused. “Roast?”

“Roast, you know – like giving Toni shit about the flower shop,” Fatin explains, smirking at Toni.

“I didn’t–” Shelby turns to look at Toni like she’s horrified. “I didn’t know I was roasting anybody…” she trails off, Toni just shakes her head, finally sitting up. 

“Fuck off, Fatin,” Toni grumbles, downing the rest of her drink and pushing it to Dot to refill. Fatin doesn’t even complain about the free drinks, just smiles deviously at Shelby. 

“So, Shelbs, if you’re going to be sticking around to roast Toni some more, we might as well get to know each other. What brought a Texan like you up to Minnesota?”

Shelby looks for a second like she still wants to debate the _roasting_ point, but ultimately decides against it. She sighs, fiddling with the napkin Dot had given her with her drink. 

“Uh, change of scenery, you know? Got a new job offer up here, decided to try it out. You know, site unseen,” Shelby says, avoiding making eye contact with any of them. Toni’s not a betting woman, but she’d put money on the fact that there’s more to that story.

“How fresh are you?” Fatin asks, folding a cup of the bar towels into a neat stack. Dot slides a refilled champagne glass to Toni with a wink.

“I just moved a few weeks ago, so I’m still pretty new.” Shelby shrugs her shoulders. 

“Wow, less than a month here and you're already joining the community bullshit Martha loves so much?” Fatin winks at Martha when she says it, and Martha doesn’t protest too much.

“I mean,” Shelby tilts her head to one side like she’s contemplating her answer. “Yeah, I was thinkin’ of joining.”

“Shelby, you have to join!” Martha practically whines, grabbing her hand. “We need your help with the bake sale.” 

Toni and Fatin make eye contact across the counter and mouth _the bake sale_ at each other. For the time being, at least, Fatin’s Roast of Toni is forgotten as they mutually rag on the Community Group.

“Well, you know I’d love to help,” Shelby says, her voice suddenly shy. “But Miss April didn’t seem to like me all too much once she figured out I worked at Muse’s.”

“Wait–” Toni says probably too loudly, sputtering out her drink. Everyone turns to look at her, but she just stares at Shelby. “You work at the tattoo parlor?” 

Shelby looks at Toni a little bit in shock, and then down at her wrist where the hint of a tattoo is visible on her wrist, above the cuff of her cardigan. And okay, maybe Toni hadn’t noticed it before, and maybe she should give Shelby just a _little_ more credit for it. Especially considering Toni herself is completely tattoo-less, due to a lifelong fear of needles born from one particularly bad trip to the doctor’s office. Still, though. One tattoo does not a tattoo parlor employee make. 

“Uh, yeah?” Shelby says, laughing a little, like it should be common knowledge that the girl who matches her headband to her cardigan also works in a tattoo parlor. Come to think of it, no one else seems all that shocked by the revelation. 

“Like,” Toni says, her brain spinning a little. “As a receptionist?”

“Jesus Christ, Toni,” Dot says. 

“That’s misogynistic,” Fatin points out, throwing one of the bar towels at Toni’s head. Even Martha is shaking her head at Toni, like she’s missing the point. 

“I’ll actually have you know, I’m finishing up my apprenticeship soon,” Shelby says, a blush creeping up her face, and Toni would feel bad about acting so shocked about her career choice is she wasn’t genuinely fucking floored by it. “I’m a tattoo artist. Or I will be. Soon.” 

Toni stares at her in shock for probably too long to be considered polite. “Oh,” she finally says. 

“Yeah,” Fatin says, laughing. _“Oh.”_

“I, for one, really don’t think it’s that big of a deal,” Dot says, sending a pointed look to Toni. Toni wants to scream _have you seen the cardigans?_ “And April is a bitch, anyways. You could be a kindergarten teacher and she’d say it’s risque.” 

“You know Miss April?” Shelby says, turning to Dot. 

  
Dot nods solemnly. “Didn’t _Miss_ April Thomas try to get you kicked off that basketball team, Toni?” 

At the name April Thomas, Toni’s completely forgotten the previous conversation. Years old rage bubbles to the surface. “Yeah, cause I had one drink at her son’s birthday party.” 

“Toni, you were throwing up in her rose bushes,” Martha reminds her. 

“Not my fault the punch was spiked. Either way, she’s a fucking bitch,” Toni shrugs. She finally looks over at Shelby. “You should definitely join the community group to piss her off.” 

“I don’t want to piss anyone off,” Shelby says, quickly. 

“You aren’t going to piss anyone off,” Martha says to Shelby, but it sounds more like she’s scolding Toni. “I’ll put in a good word, too. They’ll love to have you!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Shelby says with something that sounds a lot like false cheerfulness. She sips her drink. “Maybe.” 

“I’m with Toni on this one,” Fatin says, shrugging her shoulders. “Fucking bitches, every one of them. Except Martha, of course.” 

“Oh, stop,” Martha says, though she’s kind of smiling. “The Community Group is nice!” 

“They care more about, like, going to brunch than actually helping the school,” Dot says, walking down the bar. “I need to get some refills, can you cover for me?” She directs the question to Fatin.

Fatin rolls her eyes dramatically. “Yeah, alright, sure. What do I even pay you for?” Dot sticks her tongue out at her as she walks away.

“I don’t know, I like brunch,” Martha says shrugging. “I don’t think that's a problem.” 

“I fucking love brunch, but you don’t see me acting like a pious bitch,” Fatin points out, but Martha still looks unconvinced. “You know what?” Fatin says excitedly after a second. 

“Please don’t say it,” Toni begs. 

“We should do brunch,” Fatin proposes despite Toni’s protests. Toni groans and hangs her head back.

_“Yes!”_ Martha says at the same time Toni says _“no way.”_

“You can go without me,” Toni offers, but Martha hits her with a warning look. Toni sighs and looks up at the ceiling before she relents. “Fine, I’m in.” 

“Yeah! We can welcome Miss Shelby here to Mapleville in style,” Fatin says in a terrible southern accent, wagging her eyebrows at Shelby. 

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Shelby says, smiling despite Fatin’s mocking. 

“We can go to _Birds!”_ Fatin says excitedly, which only makes Toni less excited for the upcoming event. 

“Birds?” Shelby says, clearly confused. 

“It’s the coffee shop down the street – it’s actually called _Birds With Wigs_ , but that’s kind of weird, so we just call it Birds,” Martha explains to Shelby, who doesn’t look like she understands the situation any better. To be fair, Toni doesn’t blame her. Birds is one of the weirder phenomenons in Mapleville.

“Well, it’s actually half café, half bookstore. All pretentious hipster vibes,” Fatin clarifies, punctuating the sentence with jazz hands. 

“One of our friends is the owner,” Toni adds. 

“They make a bomb ass avocado toast.” 

“Fatin wants to bang the barista.” 

Fatin’s jaw drops at Toni’s words. Shelby and Martha stare at her in shock. Toni shrugs because she’s not about to apologize for telling the truth. 

“Wait–” Martha says, and Toni can pretty much see her brain working to put the pieces together. She had been to Birds hundreds of times with Fatin. “You have a crush on–” 

“Moving on!” Fatin says loudly, glaring at Toni. Toni just smirks back – as if Fatin were ever subtle about her feelings. Toni loves Martha to death but, god, is she oblivious to things like this. Plus, despite being Toni’s best friend, her gaydar is...lacking. “I just appreciate a good avocado toast.” 

“You appreciate a lot more than that.”

  
“I will kill you, Shalifoe.” 

Toni smirks, finishing her drink. “I’m just saying, no one gets that excited over latte art.” 

“Are you talking about Fatin’s love affair with the Barista?” Dot says, suddenly appearing behind Toni with a box full of liquor. 

Fatin levels her with a look. “I can literally fire you, Dorothy.” 

“And lose the best bartender in town? Who would make your espresso martini then?” Dot teases, shoving the box across the bar towards Fatin. Fatin struggles to lift it. 

“I need new friends,” she huffs out, staring at the box like it’s offending her.

“I think you just need to get laid,” Toni says, cocking her head to one side. 

Fatin pretends to think about it for a second. “Yeah, that too.” 

––––-

“Lord Almighty,” Shelby says, holding the door open for Toni behind her. “I might need a nap.” 

“It’s, like, nine o’clock,” Toni points out, stepping into the chilly fall air. Shelby looks back at her, a little sheepishly. 

“I know, I was just…” Shelby trails off. “You know, because they’re a lot.” Shelby gestures to the general area where they had left Dot and Fatin – and Martha, although she had promised she’d be out in a minute. “Not that it wasn’t fun! Just… a lot.”

“Yeah, that’s usually how it goes with these assholes.” Toni admits, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Fatin’s just…always like that.” 

“What about you?” Shelby says, looking over at Toni. “You always like that?” 

Toni tilts her chin up. “Always. And with pride.” 

Shelby actually laughs. “Good to know. I’ll have to make sure I get my eight hours before brunch.” 

Toni groans again, closing her eyes. “Don’t remind me,” she begs. It’s silent for a second before she finally asks the question that’s been on her mind. “So, the client you came into Jeanette’s for…” 

Toni trails off, and Shelby stares at her for a second before she understands the question Toni didn’t ask. “Tattoo client,” Shelby finally says, nodding. 

Toni purses her lips, nodding. “Interesting.” 

Shelby raises an eyebrow. “Interesting?” 

“Shelby From Texas, who I’ve only ever seen in cardigans, is a tattoo artist.”

Shelby smiles at that. “I guess you shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover.” 

Toni supposes that’s fair – and she’s in danger of agreeing with her when Martha comes out of Salud’s. “That was so much fun!” She exclaims once she’s out of the front door. 

Toni laughs, and Shelby agrees with Martha. It’s silent for a second, before Martha turns to Toni. “You ready to go home?” 

“Yeah,” Toni says, zipping her jacket up a little higher and turning to head back to their apartment. 

“I’ll see you guys later,” Shelby says, waving and walking in the other direction. 

Toni stops in her tracks. “You good to get home, Texas?” 

Shelby turns, pointing to the apartment complex a little ways down the street. “Yeah, I’m just up here. I should be good.” 

Toni nods, and Martha waves as they head to their own apartment.

“See you on Sunday, Shelby!”


	3. gardenia & white carnations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought I was being sly when I hinted at leah being the barista but everyone figured it out. that's what i get for tagging this "background leah/fatin probably" and then trying to make it a mystery lol
> 
> thank you to my beta reader [Mia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smileymikey/pseuds/smileymikey) for making this chapter readable and making me laugh with inherently provocative inspirational christian quotes

The next week at Jeanette’s is as chaotic as the first few weeks, though nothing truly remarkable happens. Toni does manage to go a full five days without a single negative Yelp review, which is a new and exciting record. 

Afternoons at the shop are usually busy, but the mornings drag on until Toni kind of wants to stab a power socket out of boredom. Toni is just fine sitting on her stool and looking through Instagram on someone else’s dime, but there’s only so many miles she can scroll with her thumb. A few days in, and Toni’s already sick of her timeline. There’s absolutely nothing fascinating about seeing her high school classmates post about the coffee they got that morning or the baby they may or may not be having. 

Despite her insistence that she has no interest in designing any bouquets, she spends Tuesday morning messing around with a couple of flowers she sees lying on the back table. Toni knows that Linh and Emily prefer designing the massive bouquets – the type of displays that would need their own fucking table at a wedding or a funeral. The ones that are too heavy for Linh to properly carry and so they sit in the center of the flower shop as a walking hazard. Toni doesn’t touch those with a ten foot pole. She sticks firmly to the bouquets with 6 or 10 or 12 flowers – the type of bouquets she would buy at the grocery store. And she absolutely _does not_ Google any flower meanings. She’s above silly symbolic meanings, but if they end up gracing her newly minted Pinterest page – well, what’s a girl to do?

Toni thinks she’s pretty good at throwing the bouquets together. Linh looks at her first couple attempts like she’s appraising something vaguely unappealing. She screws up her face like she’s two seconds away from saying _thanks, I hate it._

Not that it bothers Toni. She’s just bored and trying to find something to do other than twiddle her thumbs behind the counter while waiting for the next customer. 

And, hey, if Linh likes one of her later attempts at a bouquet, and ends up putting it in the window display on Wednesday afternoon, Toni doesn’t care. Really. She doesn’t feel any pride whatsoever when Linh puts it front and center. 

She definitely doesn’t need to fight a beaming smile when Shelby compliments it the next morning. After the night at Salud, Toni and Shelby pass each other every morning on their way to work, and Toni tries not to wonder if there’s an implication there or if it’s a larger joke being played on her by the universe. Toni nods at her every morning, and Shelby says something almost infuriatingly pleasant, like _gosh, what wonderful weather we’re having, right?_

On Thursday morning, when they are about to pass each other, Shelby points at the window display, right at the bouquet Toni put together. 

“Isn’t that just the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen?” she says with a smile. 

“Gardenias are okay,” Toni says before she can think about it. Shelby raises an eyebrow. 

“Learning more about flowers, are we?” 

“All against my will,” Toni shrugs, but there’s a smile playing on her lips. 

“I’m sure,” Shelby hums, like she can see directly through her bullshit. She smiles brightly, raising her coffee mug to Toni. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Shelby says it like it’s a certainty, and Toni tries not to think too hard about the fact that their morning interactions have become an irritatingly safe bet.

–––-

Toni spends most of Saturday sleeping in, and the rest of the day complaining to Martha about the upcoming brunch date. Martha won’t hear any of it, though, and by the time Sunday morning rolls around, Toni has begrudgingly accepted her fate. She gets up too early and pulls on a new t-shirt for brunch, and Martha meets her in the kitchen, all done up in a pretty dress like they’re meeting the queen of England or some shit. 

They leave fifteen minutes early because Martha’s impatient, and Toni drags her feet the entire half a mile walk so they don't get there ahead of schedule. Martha doesn't complain, just chats happily next to Toni while she nods along. The sun is shining, and Minnesota usually gets exactly two weeks of nice Fall weather each year. It just so happens that Fatin’s got the best luck in the world, because the nicest Fall day in Toni’s recent memory happens to be that specific Sunday. Brunch on Birds’ terrace won’t be the worst thing in the world. 

When Martha and Toni enter Birds, it feels almost lethargic compared to the vibe it has most mornings. During the weekdays, Toni avoids the crowd and gets her coffee through Emily. The few times Toni herself had ventured to the coffee bar around 9 in the morning, it was complete chaos. The line of customers, most of which were probably already late for their jobs, were mostly unpleasant and always in a rush.

Sundays at Birds are significantly less rushed. The kitchen is only open for brunch on the weekends, and something about the promise of mimosas and french toast has most of the patrons far less frazzled. 

Inside, Birds With Wigs is the epitome of a hipster coffee shop sharing space with a second hand bookstore. Towering shelves in tight rows take up the majority of the back half of the store, and even with all that shelf space, books seem to spill onto every available surface. You can’t turn around in Birds without hitting a battered copy of any one of Jane Austen’s works. 

Even the coffee bar isn’t completely safe from the book invasion. They are scattered on the bar top, leaning against the espresso machine and stacked on top of the bags of ethically sourced coffee beans. There’s a particularly battered copy of _Death of a Salesman_ serving as the coaster for the vanilla syrup. Birds has a homely feel to it, everything lived-in and almost gritty, but the appliances are shiny and brand new, and light shines in from the massive glass windows. 

It’s not _exactly_ Toni’s vibe, but she likes it well enough. The food is fine, if a little bit overpriced, but it’s all worth it to watch Fatin try (and fail) to flirt. It doesn’t take more than two seconds for Toni to find Fatin standing by the bar top and smirking like she’s trying to impress someone. Dot’s next to her, and she waves the girls over when she notices them. When her and Toni make eye contact, Dot rolls her eyes. 

“Ma’am?” Toni hears Fatin say when they are close enough. Fatin’s leaning forward across the counter and catching the attention of the barista. “I’ll have you know that this isn’t a cappuccino. This is a fucking latte.” 

The barista doesn’t hesitate, turning around and subtly flipping off Fatin so none of the other patrons can see. 

“Fuck off, Fatin,” she says quietly, her eyes shifting around the shop like she expects her boss to materialize in front of her and scold her for swearing at a customer. Toni had only met the owner of Birds a few times, but she was pretty certain even she would be fine with Leah swearing at a customer – if that customer was Fatin. “You know I can’t make a cappuccino to save my life.” 

“Tell me, Leah,” Fatin prompts, stirring a sugar stick around in her cup. “How do you run the coffee bar and not know how to make a cappuccino?” 

“It’s my shiny personality,” Leah responds dryly, and Toni snorts out a laugh at that. Leah’s sense of humor is drier than the fucking Sahara Desert, and she’s usually just a little too focused on getting shit done to be friendly to any random customer. Still, she runs the coffee bar like a well oiled machine, and she’s been the head barista at Birds for the last few years. Her and Fatin had been flirting just as long – or, well, whatever this weird brand of flirting is, where they kind of insult each other until one of them is smiling. Toni doesn’t really get it.

Leah acknowledges Toni and Martha’s arrival with a nod, and Fatin all but ignores them. 

“I think the real question is, why do you keep ordering cappuccinos when you know Leah can’t make one?” Toni says, sliding onto one of the barstools next to Fatin. 

That gets Fatin’s attention. She turns quickly to glare at Toni before turning back to smile at Leah. 

“Self improvement, babe,” Fatin says teasingly. “You can’t get better if someone doesn’t challenge you.” 

Leah shakes her head, smiling as she turns away from the bar and heads back towards the espresso machine. Toni snorts out a laugh. 

“Smooth,” she teases, and Fatin lets out an aggravated sigh. 

“Good morning, Toni,” she says without looking at her. “Good morning, Martha Sunshine.” 

Martha looks back and forth between Leah and Fatin, her eyes wide. When Leah comes back over to the bartop, talking to Fatin about something or another, Toni discreetly kicks at her shin. 

“Could you be more obvious?” Toni whispers out of the side of her mouth, and Martha shakes her head. 

“I just...I can’t believe I didn’t see it,” Martha says, her eyes flicking between them once more. Toni’s thankful that Fatin and Dot are too caught up in their discussion with Leah to pay attention to what Martha is saying. That’s not an argument she wants to jump into right now.

“Yeah,” Toni snorts quietly. “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?

Martha barely registers the teasing in Toni’s voice, just nodding along with her statement. Toni breathes out a laugh, turning back to the coffee bar and resting her elbows on the bartop. 

“What are we waiting for again?” Toni asks, even though she already knows the answer. Fatin had created a group chat specifically to plan for brunch (called it _Brunchin’ Bitches_ in true Fatin style), and there had been about a thousand messages lighting up her phone every day as they planned to meet up. She knew _exactly_ what they were waiting for. 

“Shelby’s just gotten out of church,” Martha reminds Toni anyway. Toni tries not to sneer at that reminder. 

Martha catches her reaction anyways. “Stop that,” she chastises. “She’s allowed to have religious beliefs. She goes to the church on Springer Street. It’s pretty progressive.” 

Toni levels Martha with a look. _“Progressive Church_ is an oxymoron, Marty.”

“Come on, Toni,” Martha sighs, rolling her eyes. Toni balks at the fact that Martha is putting her on the defensive. 

“What? You think that church wouldn’t tell you I’m a walking fucking sin? One way ticket to hell and all that?”

Martha sighs. “You sound like the closed minded one in this situation, Toni.” 

“Yeah, alright.” Toni breathes out a laugh. “Like her church isn’t spewing bigoted bullshit right now.” 

“Well,” Martha says, shrugging and looking over Toni’s shoulder, “definitely not _right_ now.”

Toni turns around just in time to see Shelby open the door to Birds. She smiles politely at the hostess, gesturing over where all of them are congregated. Toni notes that she’s not wearing a cardigan today, and then hates herself for noticing it. She’s got the whole _Christain Girl Fall_ thing going on – maroon dress, jean jacket, riding boots that have probably never seen a horse, and a scarf that could double as a blanket in an emergency. 

Fatin senses Shelby’s arrival as well, extracting herself from the conversation with Leah long enough to spin around on her barstool. 

“Shelby, baby!” Fatin says, waving her over. “Welcome to Birds.” 

“Sorry to keep you waiting, girls,” Shelby says as she rushes over. “Pastor Davis was going on with this really beautiful sermon and I was hoping to sneak out a little early, but then I got cornered by one of ladies from our Women’s Ministry about teaching Sunday school and –” Shelby takes a deep breath, unwinding her scarf from around her neck. “Anywho, I’m sorry I’m late.” 

“No worries, Shelby,” Martha says brightly. “We’re happy to wait.” 

Toni has to bite back a comment. Dot side eyes Toni like she knows. 

“Well, if you guys wants to order drinks, we can go sit on the terrace,” Fatin offers, adding a little false grandeur to the word _terrace_ , like the table’s overlooking Central fucking Park instead of Mapleville’s own Copper Beech Park. 

Toni turns to face Leah with a smile. “One vanilla frappe.”

“And a cookies and cream frappe, please!” Martha adds brightly.

Leah groans loudly, throwing her head back. Martha actually loves the cookies and cream frappe – Toni just loves how much Leah hates making frappes. Leah makes a show of dragging the blender out from behind a stack of Sherlock Holmes books. 

“You sure have a thing for blenders, don’t you?” Shelby says, addressing Toni but nodding to Leah. Dot laughs out loud from down the bartop. 

“Toni likes to make our jobs difficult,” Dot says, reaching over Fatin and shoving Toni’s shoulder. Leah offers Dot a small smile. 

Toni scowls as Shelby makes her way to stand behind Martha’s bar stool, shoving her scarf into her purse. 

Toni sizes her up. “You got a thing against blended beverages?” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Shelby says with a smile. “I just prefer a good old iced tea.” 

“Black or green?” Leah interjects, leaning down to open the fridge that runs under the counter.

“Excuse me?” Shelby says politely. 

Leah looks up at Shelby expectantly. “Black or green. Tea.” She gestures vaguely at the fridge. 

Shelby looks shocked for a second, like she’s never been asked that question before. “Uh… black tea, I suppose.” 

Leah nods once, reaching into the fridge and grabbing one of the pitchers. She moves around the back of the coffee bar with all the grace she can manage, narrowly avoiding a few spills as she gets Shelby a cup full of ice and a straw. Leah sets the cup on the counter, filling it with tea with a flourish. Leah slides it to Shelby before turning back around to the blender and scowling. 

When Shelby takes a sip and crinkles her nose in disgust, Toni tries not to laugh. Well, she doesn’t try too hard. 

Shelby gives her a look. “You people have no idea how to drink sweet tea,” she says under her breath, moving away from the bar and grabbing the simple syrup from the line of coffee syrups. She dumps approximately half of the bottle into her cup, and Toni raises her eyebrows at her.

“Enough sugar for you?” Toni teases, and Shelby purses her lips.

“Iced tea is supposed to be refreshing.” 

“Judging by the amount of simple syrup you put in there, it probably tastes like cough medicine,” Toni scoffs, eyeing Shelby’s drink warily. 

Shelby takes another sip. “Iced tea ought to be sweet enough to replace the syrup on your pancakes.” 

Now, it’s Toni’s turn to crinkle her nose. “That sounds disgusting.” 

Shelby’s aggravatingly gracious, as always. “Toni, someday I will make you a tall glass of southern sweet tea, and you will be converted.”

Toni bristles at the word _converted,_ like it’s a reminder of exactly who she’s talking to. She shuts down, shaking her head and ready to say something Martha will probably scold her for. Thankfully, Leah interrupts her before she can even open her mouth.

“If you guys want to go sit down, I can bring the frappes out when they are done,” she says over her shoulder. She stares at the blender in despair. “It’s going to take me a minute.” 

“Hell yeah,” Fatin says, though she looks less convinced about leaving the bar top then she’s trying to appear. “We’re at–” 

“Table 13,” Leah says, smiling at Fatin. “I know.” 

Fatin snaps her mouth shut at that, nodding once. 

Toni doesn’t wait for it to get any more awkward. She slides off her stool, saluting Leah and turning away from the bar top. Fatin is slower to get up, but before long, she’s leading the group through the shop and outside. 

To the surprise of approximately no one, Fatin does manage to score the best table on the terrace. In all honesty, Fatin is the only one who actually calls it the _terrace_ – she says she refuses to call it _“something as trite as a patio”._ She’s adamant about it, despite the fact that the back door of Birds clearly says _Entrance To Patio._

The terrace/patio area extends off the back of Birds, butting up to the edge of Copper Beech Park. Copper Beech Park is nice in the way most things in Mapleville are – it’s fine if you don’t look too closely. The front of the park opens onto mainstreet with big wrought iron gates and a parking lot with access to any number of foot trails that extend across the park. For the most part, save for the Swan Pond at the far corner of the park, Toni doesn’t really have a problem with Copper Beech. Birds overlook the Rose garden, and although it’s a sad thing (there’s hardly any roses and the use of the term _garden_ is suspect), it doesn’t have any angry, predatory fowl patrolling it’s borders.

The table is way too small for all five of them, but nobody really complains. Toni is squished between Dot and Martha, who jostle her a little bit but, honestly, there are worse places to be. As an added bonus, when she looks up across the table, she can see Shelby watching Fatin warily, almost like she’s a bomb waiting to go off. Frankly, it’s not a terrible way to deal with Fatin.

“So,” Fatin says, leaning back in her seat. She picks up the menu and eyes it absentmindedly before setting it back down. “How was everyone’s week? Toni, did you ruin any marriages at the flowershop?” 

Toni scowls. “Not this week.” 

Dot laughs out loud at that, and Toni shoves her shoulder, and then they are going around the table talking about their week. Dot complains about her day job at the sporting goods store across town. Martha almost cries when she talks about a particularly heartfelt adoption. Shelby waxes poetic about an exciting new design she’s working on.

Toni doesn’t really pay attention to what anyone’s saying, just picking up enough that she can follow the conversation should someone ask her a question. The way she sees it, it’s Mapleville: same soup, just reheated. And besides, while Dot was complaining, Shelby had shrugged off her jean jacket. It’s the first time Toni has a good look at the tattoos on her arms. 

There’s one on the outside of her right wrist, the one that Toni had seen poking out of the top of her cardigans on a few occasions. It’s a cross – _of course_ – with something floating around it. After a few moments of struggling to get a better look, Toni realizes the little squiggles are a set of four birds spiraling the cross. 

Under the sleeve of Shelby’s dress, there’s another tattoo taking up the majority of her upper arm. A cluster of wildflowers and a butterfly floating above it, simple and striking in black ink across her pale skin. 

And, okay, maybe it’s mediocrely badass that Shelby’s a tattoo artist, but she has a _cross_ and a _butterfly_ tattooed on her. Toni won’t give her any more credit than that. Shelby will remain firmly in _mediocre badass_ territory. 

Leah comes by the table just as Shelby finishes her story about a client who wanted a tramp stamp of Garfield the Cat. Leah approaches the table kind of awkwardly, smiling in the way she does when she feels like she’s interrupting something.

“A vanilla bean frappe,” she says, sliding it to Toni. “And a cookies and cream frappe,” she says, placing it in front of Martha. 

“Thanks Leah,” Martha says brightly, and Toni lifts up two figures in acknowledgement. 

“Does anyone else need anything?” Leah says, awkwardly fiddling with her tray. Her eyes linger on Fatin just a little too long to be written off as a normal level of concern for a barista. 

Fatin smiles up at her, gesturing with her cappuccino cup. “I think we’re all set here,” she says. “Thank you, though.” 

Leah leaves with a bob of her head, turning on her heels and walking away. Fatin watches her disappear back into the shop. The second the door closes behind Leah, she turns and glares at Martha. 

“Martha Sunshine, if you don’t stop looking at me and Leah like we are doing something scandalous on the coffee bar, I will strangle you, no matter how sweet you are.” 

Martha looks at Fatin with wide eyes. “I wasn’t—“ 

“Why don’t you stop looking at Leah like you want to do something scandalous on the coffee bar?” Toni says defensively. Fatin glares at her but doesn’t argue. Martha looks traumatized.

“Drink your fucking milkshake,” Fatin bites out. 

“They aren’t milkshakes!” Martha protests. “They’re frappes.” 

Fatin snorts once at that, then laughs louder, shaking her head. “God, help me,” she says. 

Toni makes the mistake of looking back at Shelby at the mention of the Big Man In The Sky. She still seems a little shocked by the general chaos the four of them exude, but she recovers quickly and nods at Toni’s drink. 

“You like teasing me for my sweet tea when you’re drinking a milkshake?” Shelby’s smile is bright, and fucking infectious, like a disease. 

Toni tries not to fall victim. She almost succeeds. “It’s not a fucking milkshake,” she mutters, but the corners of her lips lift up into the tiniest of smiles. 

_God damn it._

Toni feels Fatin’s eyes on her, and she struggles to get her facial expression under control before meeting her eyes. Fatin’s looking at her like she’s struggling to put a puzzle together, and Toni would very much like to tell her to fuck off. Whatever puzzle Fatin thinks she’s looking at, it’s almost an inevitability that she’ll get it wrong.

For better or for worse, Toni doesn’t get the chance to set the record straight. 

“So,” Martha says, visibly putting effort into moving the conversation forward. “How did your thing with the planning committee go?” 

She directs the question at Fatin, who rolls her eyes dramatically. Toni can tell Fatin’s been waiting for someone to bring it up. 

“Fucking terrible, my dear,” Fatin laments. “Don’t try and open a business in fucking Mapleville, Minnesota.” 

Honestly, Toni’s a little shocked that this is the first time she’s hearing about the outcome of Fatin’s hearing with the planning committee. Fatin had told her about it a week ago in the flower shop, but it had completely slipped Toni’s mind. Toni was only partially invested in Salud’s drama in the first place, only really bothering to pay attention when Fatin was actually worried about shit hitting the fan. Plus, there was a new blonde-haired tattoo artist working next door and any other number of calamities happening all around Toni – she was a little preoccupied. 

“The hag gave it to her,” Dot says, probably a little too gleefully for someone talking about the complaints lobbied against her employer. 

“Oh, did she?” Toni says, and Dot nudges her shoulder.

“Shut up, Dorothy,” Fatin bites back. “She didn’t _give it to me._ She pulled up some bullshit about Salud’s being too loud for the residential nature of Mapleville’s community.” 

“You did blow out a speaker during the block dance over the summer,” Dot points out, taking a sip of her iced coffee. 

Fatin stares at Dot like she betrayed her. “It was a _community block dance._ The entire street was supposed to hear the music!” 

“The entire street, sure,” Toni says, shrugging. “But I’m pretty sure they heard it all the way in fucking Canada.” 

“Legend has it that you can still hear _Girl Blunt_ echoing off the Candian Rockies,” Dot adds.

Fatin rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I know you’d be heartbroken if they shut down Salud.” Fatin raises an eyebrow in a challenge. “What are you going to do? Work double at the sweatshop?” 

“It’s a sporting goods store, first of all,” Dot reminds her, as if Fatin didn’t make the mistake on purpose. “And yeah, maybe I would. Get to measure people for hiking boots 16 hours a day.” 

Fatin snorts out a laugh, shaking her head. “Disgusting.” 

“You could pay me to do a double at Salud’s,” Dot prompts. “That way I wouldn’t have to work another job.” 

“Dorothy, sweetie, I love you to death.” Fatin pauses for dramatic effect. “I cannot pay a bartender to be mixing drinks at 11 in the morning on a Tuesday. Gretchen would shut me down in a second.” 

Dot seems to accept that, rolling her eyes a little but sitting back in her seat. Shelby, on the other hand, moves forward, resting her elbows on the table. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, her eyebrows furrowing together. “But I’m a little lost. What’s going on?” 

Fatin sighs deeply, like it’s all some great travesty, not small town politics. “The Town Planning Committee gave Salud a citation for being too noisy,” Fatin lifts her cappuccino up to her lips. “The Chair of the Committee has had it out for me since I moved to Mapleville.” 

“This is the third time Chairwoman Klein has filed a complaint against Salud,” Dot adds, smiling ruefully. “And yet she’ll still come in and order three fingers of bourbon.” 

“Figures,” Fatin scoffs. “Fucking bitch.” 

Martha frowns. “I’ve always thought Gretchen was nice.” 

Fatin stares at her for a second before nodding. “Of course you do.” 

“She always approves the food truck permits for us,” Martha says defensively. 

“And she can’t mind her own fucking business.” Fatin throws her hands up. “Who cares if Salud gets a little wild on the weekends? Honestly, this podunk town could use a little spice.” 

“Here, here,” Dot says, raising her coffee cup to cheers with Fatin. Fatin clinks them together aggressively. “And God, do we have the right person to spice it up.” 

“So, this Gretchen lady,” Shelby says, looking a little bit like she’s trying to solve a crossword puzzle in her head. “She’s trying to shut down Salud? For no good reason?” 

Dot snorts. “I wouldn’t say _no good reason._ ” 

“She has it out for me,” Fatin says defensively. “Has since the day I got here.”

Dot tilts her head to one side. “Actually, I think she’s had it out for you since the first town meeting you went to.” 

“You mean the one where Fatin called her the _bumbling half-wit put in charge of the fun police?”_ Toni asks pointedly. She’s not too big to admit that she has the entire story of Fatin’s first town meeting basically memorized at this point. 

“I believe the actual insult was _errant, two-faced she-devil,”_ Dot says, pretending to contemplate it. “Though there was definitely something in there about her being the Chief of the Fun Police.” 

Fatin picks up her menu again, looking it over. “She threatened to put a ban on new liquor licenses. Someone needed to put her in her place.” 

Toni ventures a look at Shelby, who still looks like she’s trying to absorb as much information as possible. 

Toni throws her a bone. “Moral of the story, Fatin’s a bitch but Gretchen Klein is a bigger bitch. We don’t like her.” Shelby nods at that.

“Martha, honey, shut your mouth,” Fatin says without looking up from her menu. Martha, who looks like she might have been ready to defend Gretchen, snaps her mouth shut, though her frown doesn’t leave her face.

“Welcome to Mapleville, Shelby,” Dot says, toasting to her.

––––

Toni’s surprised by how easy brunch goes. Fatin complains more about the upcoming hearing, but she doesn’t actually get upset. Martha bites her tongue when Fatin bad mouths Gretchen Klein, but otherwise stays fully invested in the conversation. Dot only pokes fun at Fatin an acceptable amount, and Fatin only throws a balled up straw wrapper at her once. Shelby doesn’t go on a rant about whatever the fuck her sermon from the morning was about – in fact, avoids the topic of church completely – but she does fill them in on a particularly funny tattoo story or two. Toni only makes one comment comparing the maple syrup she pours on her french toast to Shelby’s iced tea. For the most part, they all play nice.

That is, until the check comes to the table. 

Toni’s plate of french toast was so big, she kind of feels like she might explode. She’s got that lethargic, _just finished a huge meal_ thing going on. Plus, Fatin had ordered them a round of mimosas with their meals. Toni’s entire plan for the afternoon is to go home and crash for a couple hours, then maybe head down to the Copper Beech’s basketball court and shoot a few hoops before the sun goes down. She doesn’t have it in her to fight Fatin for the bill. 

When the waiter – a tall guy with slick backed hair named Alex – drops the bill on the table, Fatin grabs it immediately. Really, there’s never been any debate among the group of friends. Fatin’s always considered herself a provider, and given her generational wealth and extremely successful restaurant, it was common place for Fatin to just… take care of the bill. Toni would feel bad about it if Fatin’s purse didn’t cost double Toni’s monthly rent.

Shelby doesn’t have the same point of view. “How are we splitting this?” she says, reaching behind her chair to grab her wallet. 

Shelby doesn’t realize the entire table has gone still until she turns back to face them. Everyone’s looking at her a little strange, and Shelby slowly unzips her wallet. 

“What?” she asks after a second, her eyes flicking between all of them. “Do I have something in my teeth?” 

Fatin shakes her head, tapping her fingers on the bill holder. “Nah, don’t worry about it Shelby,” she says a little awkwardly. “I’ve got this one.” 

  
“Oh, nonsense!” Shelby says, pulling a card out of her wallet. “You aren’t going to pay for my food.” Her voice trails off when she notices no one else at the table is backing her up. 

They’re all silent for a second, the uncomfortable tension palpable. Fatin breaks it with a smile, reaching over to grab Shelby’s hand. 

“Shelby, my dear, let me handle it,” she shrugs her shoulder, placing her own card in the holder. “If we go out for brunch again, you can pick up the tab.” 

Fatin says it like she has absolutely no plan to let Shelby pay next time. Shelby doesn’t pick up on it. “I hardly think that’s fair,” she says, laughing in disbelief. She looks up at Toni, and when Toni doesn’t give her anything to work with, her eyes move to Martha. 

“It’s totally fair! I suggested brunch, I pay for brunch. No need to get your panties in a twist,” Fatin says, handing the bill to the waiter. 

Shelby still looks torn up about Fatin paying, her teeth worrying her lip. Toni’s has half a mind to nudge Martha and suggest they get the fuck out of there before they’re stuck in the middle of a polite fight. A second later, when Shelby’s face lights up, Toni’s certain she should have booked it out of Birds when she had the chance. 

“I have an idea!” Shelby says excitedly, and Toni regrets every choice she ever made that led up to this moment. Whatever Shelby’s going to suggest, Toni already knows she’s going to hate it. “Why don’t y’all come over for dinner to my place next weekend?” 

Fatin blinks at Shelby in surprise. “You don’t have to do that, Shelby.” 

“No, no, it’ll be fun!” Shelby insists, nodding her head. “We could make it, like, a weekly thing. We all hang out, have a little food, get to know each other a little better.”

“No offense,” Toni says. “But I feel like I know all of you guys just fine.” 

“Could use to know a little less about Fatin,” Dot adds sagely. Fatin reaches across the table and flicks her. 

“You know what,” Fatin says, her eyes blazing from Dot’s last comment. Toni knows they made a grave mistake. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Shelby. We should all have a girls night.” 

“Yes! A girls night!” Martha says. “We can have some wine and one of those fancy cheese boards!” 

“And I just got this brand new table for my dining room – it’s perfect for entertaining,” Shelby says, clapping her hands together. “What’d y’all say, girls? We have a dinner party next weekend?” 

“Hell yes, bitch,” Fatin says, slapping her hand on the table. 

“Absolutely!” Martha agrees. 

Dot and Toni look at each other for a second. 

Dot sighs. “Whatever. Could be fun.”

Toni knows she’s fighting a losing battle without Dot. Martha’s already nudging her, and Toni thinks she’s two seconds away from getting wacked in the shins by Fatin. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Toni grumbles. “Dinner party next weekend with Texas.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm like toni in that I know nothing about flowers when left to my own devices. The only resource I use for this fic in terms of Flower Meanings is good ole [wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plant_symbolism). I'm just hoping none of that information is wrong. 
> 
> come talk to me on [tumblr](https://yellowlaboratory.tumblr.com/)!!


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